


6 Feet Under, 7 Layers Deep

by a_slightly_cracked_egg



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Domestic Violence, It's really not bad, Reincarnation, and also police brutality, and depressive behaviors, and minor amounts of blood, but yea trigger warning for death, cancer mentioned, im just letting yall know, so like they die but no, uno reverse that shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_slightly_cracked_egg/pseuds/a_slightly_cracked_egg
Summary: Anne was always the same age when she woke up.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	1. Stranger in my own skin

**Author's Note:**

> basically i'm just hoping that if i post this here (it was posted previously on tumblr) that'll give me incentive to finish it. i highkey hate having unfinished wip (it makes me feel really guilty) and i really like this concept so i'm going to try and revive it even though i haven't touched it in literal MONTHS
> 
> also i made some edits because i didn't like how quickly the story progressed

Anne was always the same age when she woke up.

The only time she remembered being younger than 24 was in her first life, which was a mere shadow of a memory by this point.

She rested her forehead against the cool metal pole she was holding onto. The subway rumbled, jostling the occupants of the train. She lifted her head and let her gaze wander lazily across the faces of those around her. 

There was man with a thick white mustache and a bald head so shiny she could see her own reflection in it.

Next to him was a mother and child, wearing matching clothes and facial expressions.

Beside the door was a young woman with brown skin and curly hair, holding a notebook and pen, scribbling away furiously. Her nose was scrunched in concentration.

The woman in question, as if sensing Anne’s eyes on her, looked up suddenly, and caught Anne’s gaze.

Before Anne could register the beginning of a smile forming on the other woman’s lips, the train crashed.

\---

She always came in the same body.

It was mildly surprising that no one had recognized her yet.

Then again, she was always in a different area. She had never met the same person twice.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Anne sighed lightly as the walk sign turned green, and stepped out into the road. A red Camaro sped through the intersection.

Anne didn’t even feel the impact.

\---

Sometimes, just for kicks, she would tell someone a story from her past.

How she watched the London Bridge as it was built.

How she aided American women in the workforce during World War II.

How she met and shook hands with Marsha P. Johnson.

No one believed her these days, but it didn’t really matter.

\---

It got lonely, sometimes.

That’s pretty much a given.

On especially bad nights, Anne would look to the sky and pray to God that He might send a companion down for her.

Someone who could live their lives with her for eternity.

She had long ago given up faith.

\---

One of Anne’s favorite things was finding a small town job.

This life, it was working at a bakery.

The employees were kind, the customers quaint, and the location picturesque.

Everything was fine.

The tiny bell at the top of the entrance door rang.

Anne looked up.

She nearly choked on air.

Struggling to keep her composure, she smiled amiably at the new customer.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” Anne wished she could ask this woman a million questions.

“Just a black coffee and a blueberry scone please,” replied the curly haired woman from the train.

\---

She was standing right in front of Anne.

Could she be the merciful gesture from the Heavens that Anne had been praying for?

_She survived the train crash._

Shit. She’s been staring too long.

Anne cleared her throat.

“That’ll be $4.79,” Anne gave the curly-haired woman what she hoped would be interpreted as a reassuring smile. “Who’s it under?”

“Um, Catherine.”

Catherine.

Catherine.

\---

Anne watched the woman - Catherine - seat herself at a small table in the corner of the bakery. She pulled out the same notebook and pen she had been using on the train.

She looked up at Anne.

She smiled, and waved awkwardly.

Anne blushed and averted her eyes.

\---

“I’m so sorry for staring, but I figured since I can’t really make this any more uncomfortable than it already is, I might as well introduce myself. I’m Anne,” Anne slid into the seat opposite Catherine. Catherine smiled again.

“You’re the girl from the train,” she said simply, “I remember you.”

“You…you do?” Anne asked, slightly taken aback.

“Yes,” Catherine laughed, “I do.”

“Oh,” Anne honestly didn’t know where to go from there.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” Catherine prompted, giggling slightly at Anne’s clear inability to express what she was thinking.

“Um…” Anne trailed off.

How exactly are you supposed to ask someone if they’re immortal?

“Crazy, how uh…the train crashed,” Anne stammered. Catherine raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah…crazy.”

“H-how did you survive?” Anne blurted out.

Shit.

Definitely not what she meant to say.

“How did you survive?” Catherine replied cooly. Anne shrugged uncomfortably.

“Um...luck?”

This time both of Catherine’s eyebrows shot up.

“Luck, you say?” Catherine snorted, taking a sip of her coffee.

Anne’s heart climbed into her throat.

Her stomach sank.

This woman was not immortal.

She remembered the passion with which Catherine had been scribbling away on the train.

She remembered the tenacity with with Catherine had been writing just moments earlier.

She watched painfully as Catherine dipped her head to mark down a few notes.

“You write like you’re running out of time,” Anne remarked, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Catherine looked up sharply, clearly surprised.

“Yes, well…” Catherine’s sigh sounded awfully melancholy, “We only have one life to live.”

Anne sighed.

She wanted to breakdown and cry.

“Yes,” she replied, “only one life.”

\---

She cried.

She cried and cried and cried until she could cry no more.

She had learned long ago to not get attached to anyone.

In her fourth life, after she had passed on from her third, she had attempted to find an old friend.

What she found instead was pain and suffering.

Her best companion, a young man named Harrison Mark, had been sent to war and shot dead on the front lines.

He would not be coming back.

After that, she had left her past lives alone.

It was much better that way.

\---

All she wanted was someone to love.

Someone to cherish.

Someone to keep her company.

\---

“Anne?”

Anne barely registered someone calling her name.

“Anne what’s going on? Are you alright?”

Through her tears, she recognized the figure standing over her.

It was her.

The woman from the train.

Catherine.

Catherine.

It was almost 9:00 pm. The sun had set long ago, leaving the faint traces of light lingering overhead.

The train station was dark.

Anne was kneeling on the concrete floor, pain shooting up her left knee which felt the age of hundreds of years of walking.

Her arms were wrapped around herself as she sobbed into the empty evening.

“Anne, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Please leave me alone,” Anne responded pitifully. Catherine shook her head stubbornly.

"Come on, Anne, it's not safe here, please," Catherine's voice was gentle, so, so gentle, and Anne wished she could do something to forget her, to forget all of it, because she was doing just fine before they met and of course she had gotten her hopes up and now it was like losing someone she didn't even know properly.

Anne led out a shuddering sob.

"Please, go away," Anne's hand flew out to push Catherine away, but Catherine caught it and squeezed it.

"At least get on the train with me. Don't stay here alone at the station."

Anne looked up briefly.

"I don't want you to go out of your way--"

“It's okay, this train line that leads to my apartment.” Catherine's pleading look made Anne's heart clench.

As they stared silently at each other, Anne felt a strange sensation in her chest.

She nodded reluctantly and stood up.

\---

“I just, I can’t explain it,” Anne said softly, “You wouldn’t believe me, and even if you did it wouldn’t matter.”

“Then explain it to me in terms you think I’ll understand,” Catherine said simply.

“It’s not that easy,” Anne said meekly.

“Make it easy.” Catherine raised an eyebrow.

Anne hummed.

“I’ve walked down a lot of different roads,” she started, “and, um…and,”

“And?” Catherine prompted patiently.

“My feet fucking hurt!” Anne exclaimed, “I’m fucking tired of walking! I just want to sit down and rest, but I can’t. And…”

“And?”

“And I want to walk with someone.”

“Well that seems feasible.”

Anne shook her head, and Catherine laughed.

"What, no one's caught your fancy?" Her eyes crinkled with mirth.

Anne just looked at her sadly.

“No one can keep up.”

\---

They sat across from each other in the empty train. **  
**

The rumbling of the engine reminded Anne of the first time they had been on a train together. She stared out the window at the rain speckling on the glass.

Oh, how cliché.

“I know how you feel,” Catherine’s voice was small and tired. Anne nearly broke her neck as her head whipped around to look at the other woman.

"Sorry?"

"I know how you feel," Catherine repeated, "tired and lonely and shit."

“I…I don’t think you do,” Anne said in resignation. Catherine smiled kindly.

The train screeched to a stop.

“Would you care to come on an adventure with me?”

Her voice sounded so hopeful.

How could Anne say no?

“Sure. Why not?”

\---

“Why are we in the ass-crack middle of nowhere?” Anne asked, thoroughly bewildered.

“Hey, you can leave if you want, I’m not forcing you to come with me,” Catherine smirked. Anne rolled her eyes.

“You said adventure, not desolate hellscape,” she retorted.

“Oh, calm down, it’s beautiful here!” Catherine exclaimed, eyes bright, “Follow me. This is one of my favorite places to go when I’m lonely.”

“Why _am_ I following you?” Anne began talking to herself aloud, “I met you like, three days ago.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me that,” Catherine replied, pushing aside branches which protruded askew in their path.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Anne asked, a hint of nervousness bleeding into her voice. Catherine glanced behind her, smiling in reassurance.

“It’s okay. I promise you’ll like it.”

For some reason, Anne couldn’t help but trust her.

\---

“What do you see?”

“Trees.” Anne responded blankly. Catherine laughed into the still night air.

Her laugh made Anne want to cry.

It was a sound of pure joy and wonder.

“No, silly,” Catherine’s voice was so gentle, it encouraged tears to form in the corners of Anne’s eyes, “Look up.”

So Anne did.

Stars.

That was all she could see.

She was speechless.

“I haven’t seen the sky this clear since the 1700s!” Anne blurted out. Instead of looking at her strangely like Anne expected, Catherine laughed again, only this time there was a tinge of sadness behind the beautiful sound. Her reply was soft.

“Yeah, me neither.”

\---

It was quiet.

Not exactly silent.

But quiet.

The ground was still beneath their backs.

“So how long are we going to lie here?” Anne’s voice cut through the peace. Catherine snorted. She reached for Anne’s hand.

“I dunno. You got any plans tomorrow?” She said through a yawn.

“No.”

“Let’s just stay here. Maybe this will help with your problem.”

“Are you sure you’re not about to murder me?” Anne asked skeptically.

There it was again.

Catherine’s laugh.

“No promises, love.”

\---

Anne didn’t have a watch.

“What time is it?”

Catherine groaned.

“Only God knows,” she replied spitefully. Anne turned her head to peer at her.

"Do you believe in God?" She asked curiously. Catherine laughed, but there was little humor behind it.

"Whether He's real or not, he's a real jerk that's what."

"Touché."

\---

They returned to the train station some time after midnight.

Anne didn’t really care.

“Which direction are you going?” Catherine asked breathlessly, rubbing her hands together from the cold.

_Whichever direction you are._

“It doesn’t matter,” Anne replied.

\---

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Catherine.

Anne smiled.

Her heart was happy.

Her brain was not.

“I work here, dumbass,” Anne quipped, “What can I get for you today?”

“Black coffee and a blueberry scone please,” Catherine said, pulling out her wallet. 

Anne hummed softly.

\---

“So…how’s your day been?”

“Well right off the bat I can tell you’re terrible at small talk,” Catherine smirked, snapping her notebook closed, “What is it you actually want to talk about?”

Anne swallowed harshly.

"I wanted to, uh, to thank you for, you know..." she gestured helplessly. Catherine shook her head, smiling that same gentle smile that made Anne's heart clench.

"It's nothing, really," she jotted something down in her notebook, before looking back up at Anne shyly.

"It was something to me."

"I'm glad."

They observed each other for a while, neither of them saying anything.

“Would you like to go on a walk?" Anne blurted out, "I’m off in fifteen minutes and you’re like…my only friend.” Catherine raised her eyebrows.

“We’re friends?”

“Um, I dunno…I guess?" Anne stammered, blushing scarlet, "If you want to be. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that's okay,” Catherine replied softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling like someone who smiles a lot. “We’re friends. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

Anne grinned.

\---

Much to Anne's delight and dismay, their walks became a daily occurance.

Every morning, just after 10:00 am, Catherine would arrive at the bakery and order a black coffee and a blueberry scone from Anne. She would then retreat into the corner of the store and either write in her notebook or type away at a small laptop until Anne got off on break. Then they would go on a walk.

Sometimes the air would be filled with laughter and comfortable conversation. Other times they would walk in silence, enjoying the outdoors and the company of each other.

Anne learned things.

Catherine's favorite color was blue.

Catherine liked to be called Cathy.

("It makes me feel less old," she laughed.)

Cathy was a freelance writer, currently working on a manuscript regarding religion.

("You expressed rather adverse opinions on religion earlier, I would have thought you'd prefer to stay far away," Anne remarked curiously. Cathy shrugged.

"The topics we wrestle with the most make for the most interesting debate.")

Cathy was currently attempting to learn how to play violin, event though she already played seven instruments.

(Anne almost felt bashful at the fact that she had never bothered to pick up any extra skills. Cathy could do more with one lifetime than Anne could do with a dozen.)

Cathy was also fluent in Spanish and Latin.

("Haha!" Anne crowed, "Finally, I have some advantage over you!" Cathy rolled her eyes goodnaturedly.

"What, are you fluent in Pig Latin?" She teased.

"Fuck you, I'm fluent in French," Anne stuck her tongue out playfully.)

Anne learned that Cathy's mother had died when she was a teenager, and her father wasn't present for most of her life. Anne learned that Cathy had gone to live with her godmother, who was only a few years older that Cathy herself. They had lived together and supported each other as Cathy worked her way through college. 

Anne learned that a month after Cathy graduated, her godmother was diagnosed with cancer, and died a year or so later.

Anne learned that Cathy hated sympathy and pity.

Anne learned about Cathy's relationship with Thomas Seymour. She learned about how Cathy had been so enamoured with Thomas that she failed to see the warning signs until it hit her square on the nose. Literally.

Anne learned that Cathy's relationship with Seymour was what had led to her discovering the clearing in the woods.

Anne learned that Cathy was calm and collected, calculating, and a night owl.

Most of all, Anne learned that she loved Cathy.

\---

She had fallen in love twice before.

Once to a pirate.

And then to a locksmith.

She started thinking that maybe she’d have to add ‘writer’ to that list.

\---

“What do you think it’s like to live forever?”

The question caught Anne off guard. She almost tripped on air.

She and Cathy were walking along a sidestreet to the main boulevard.

It was peaceful, albeit hot and muggy.

Anne paused a long while before answering Cathy’s question.

“Lonely,” She finally answered, “I think it’s unbearably lonely.”

Cathy nodded.

“I get what you mean.”

They walked in silence for several paces.

Cathy gently grabbed her elbow.

“Look up there, there's a cardinal!”

Then there was a gunshot.

\---

“Ma’am, was this woman harassing you?”

“What? God, no! _We’re friends!_ ”

“But she grabbed you without consent, correct?”

“She grabbed my elbow to show me a fucking bird, you can’t be serious–”

“She had a gun on her, didn’t she?”

“IT WAS A FUCKING NOTEBOOK YOU IDIOT!”

\---

“Cathy, Cathy, hey, it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay, just stay with me.”

“Anne, please let go of me.”

“Cathy–”

“Please take care of yourself.”

“Stop it, stop it!”

“Anne, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Cathy, please–”

\---

She scrubbed at her hands, desperately trying to get the blood off.

Cathy’s blood.

She shuddered.

At last, the emotion she’d been holding in burst through.

She cried.

And this time Cathy wasn’t there to comfort her.

\---

Anne felt lonely in the bakery. **  
**

She’d felt loneliness before, but not like this.

Cathy.

Gentle, kind, genius Cathy.

Anne testified at the trial.

Of course, the officer walked free.

As it turned out, Cathy didn’t have any living family - or at least, no family willing to show up to Cathy’s funeral.

Nor did she have any friends.

So Anne was left by herself to mourn the first friend she had made in nearly two centuries.

\---

The days crawled by.

On occasion, Anne couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed.

These occasions became more and more frequent.

She found herself skipping meals, skipping work, not even bothering to sleep. Instead she chose to lie listlessly in her bed, allowing the dread of her situation to mingle and fester.

\---

She got fired from her job.

Her manager even seemed sorry about it.

Anne just nodded and went back to her apartment.

She didn’t get out of bed for three days.

\---

Every once in a while, Anne would muster up the strength to go out.

She always ended up in the same spot.

\---

Anne gazed up at the stars as she lay on the rain-soaked earth.

A halo of tree foliage encircled the clear night sky.

She remembered an old myth she had heard in her first life, in the 16th century.

When someone dies, their soul becomes a star.

She hoped that it was true.

“Cathy,” she whispered, “Cathy, please.”

She began to cry.

Hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, sliding precariously down her temples, dripping into her ears and on the forest floor.

“God, I’m so tired.”

\---

She thought it would be like this forever. She thought she would always have this horrible feeling of heartbreak.

She felt selfish when the feeling began to fade.

She had brought herself to care about another human being for the first time since 1843. Surely that would have a lasting impact on her psyche.

She almost felt guilty for being able to function again.

It took her two months and seven days.

\---

She found another job, this time at a library. It didn’t pay much, but it was peaceful. It allowed Anne’s mind to wander.

Her mind would usually land on Cathy.

Cathy, with her curly hair and her perfect smile and her kind, thoughtful words.

Cathy, with her brilliant mind and quick wit and her warm hands.

Cathy, who always knew exactly what to say when Anne couldn't find the words.

Cathy, who was so unbelievably patient.

Anne wished she could have done things differently.

She wished she could have taken the bullet.

Anne wished she had told Cathy that she loved her.

—

Perhaps Anne fell in love too quickly.

Perhaps she had fallen in love with the idea of Cathy, rather than Cathy herself.

But she couldn’t shake the fact that whenever she felt lonely, she would return to the spot in the woods beneath the stars.

It made her feel connected to Cathy.

It made her feel less alone.

—

It took her three months and twenty-four days to muster up the courage to visit Cathy’s grave.

The first time she went, she sat for hours in front of the headstone.

She didn’t say a word.

The second visit, she brought flowers.

Then, in a moment of vulnerability, she began a one-sided conversation.

“Hey,” Anne said, her voice wavering dangerously, “I, um…I brought you flowers.”

Silence.

Obviously.

Anne cleared her throat.

“I, uh, I didn’t know what kind you liked so I got a variety,” she continued sheepishly, “we didn’t get that far in getting to know each other I guess.”

No answer.

It’s not like Anne had expected one.

“Okay, well, uh, I’ll see you soon,” Anne cringed slightly.

She carefully laid the flowers beside Cathy’s grave and walked away.

\---

It happened while she was re-shelving books at the library.

It was ten minutes until closing, and everyone had already cleared out. Very few people came to the library this late anyway.

As she headed to the historical research section, she noticed a lone figure sitting at a table, facing away from Anne.

Anne frowned.

It took her a moment to realize the woman had headphones in, which must be part of the reason why she was so out of touch with her surroundings.

She shrugged to herself, and continued her brisk pace over to return the historical research books.

By the time she was finished, it was only a few minutes until closing. She absentmindedly checked the front desk one last time, before glancing over at the woman at the table.

Anne frowned.

She walked over.

She tapped the woman on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am, the library is about to close–” Anne stopped when she saw the woman’s face.

Cathy.

Cathy.

“Anne?”

Anne felt frozen. It was like every atom in her body had slowed down. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, she could barely think.

She felt unbearably dizzy.

“Cathy?” Anne’s voice was faint and tinny.

God, please don’t let this be a dream.

She opened her mouth to ask a million questions, but nothing came out. Instead, she collapsed sideways on the floor in a dead faint.

\---


	2. Graced, and wearing thin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not happy with this as always, but i'm learning to be ok with imperfection!

It really was her own goddamn fault, Catherine mused.

She knew better than to get attached, to make friends, to be happy.

It never turned out the way she wanted, and usually ended with heartbreak and loneliness.

But there was just something about Anne, something that she couldn’t quite describe, that made her feel more understood than she had ever been before.

Perhaps it was cliché. In fact, she was nearly sure it was, because there was no way for Anne to ever comprehend a fraction of Cathy’s experience.

But even so, whenever Cathy would walk into the bakery and see Anne fiddling absentmindedly with the espresso maker, her heart filled with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It was like being seen for the first time after centuries of being invisible.

So Cathy kept walking in. Anne would give her that same smile filled with unspoken mirth, that couldn’t quite be put into words, but instead twinkled cheekily in Anne’s bright eyes. Cathy would order a black coffee and a blueberry scone. (She was a sucker for routine, she’ll be the first to admit. Nearly 500 years of living, and she is still too stubborn to change her habits. Sue her.) Anne would grin and quip cleverly about something or other as she prepared Cathy’s order, and Cathy would laugh gently and wish everything was different.

“Your order, madam,” Anne’s clear voice brought Cathy back to the present. She picked herself up from out of the chair she had been slumped in, and came forward to retrieve her order. Anne shot her a quick smile before returning to the cash register. Cathy gave Anne a smile she did not see, then picked up her drink and scone.

She sat back down at her table, and cradled the warm coffee in her cold palms. She traced her thumb fondly over the heart Anne always drew next to Cathy’s name.

Oh, how she wished things were different.

\---

It went on like this for quite some time.

Every day that passed, Cathy knew she was making it harder and harder to leave.

She knew she would be kicking herself later for doing this.

She did not care one bit.

\---

Their walks became the highlight of her day.

It was almost embarrassing, how much Cathy thought about Anne. She had five centuries worth of life experiences to brood on, a novel to edit, and an instrument to learn, and yet the only thing on her mind was Anne.

It was just that she’s never really had many friends, even when she tries to make them, and something about Anne is just so intoxicating that one can’t help but like her. And she’s lonely, dammit! She’s spent so much time alone, maybe a part of her wanted to be needed. So when she saw Anne crying on that train platform, she broke all the internal rules she had set for herself.

_Don’t let people notice you._

_Don’t make friends._

_Don’t get attached._

She hadn’t yet been given the chance to regret her decision.

\---

“Favorite animal?

“An octopus, without a doubt. Favorite flower?”

“Daffodils or daisies. Don’t make me choose. Favorite song?”

“Ramblings of a Lunatic by Bears in Trees. Favorite color?”

“Blue. Favorite number?”

“Hm, I don’t really have one, to be honest,” Anne mused absently.

“Think of one, then,” Cathy challenged, raising an eyebrow and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Anne snorted.

“69.”

Cathy rolled her eyes.

“I should have known,” she griped up to the sky in mock despair, and Anne giggled, then sighed.

“Probably 13.”

Cathy looked at her in slight surprised.

“Really?”

Anne gazed at her with a faraway look in her eyes that made Cathy feel like she was intruding on something private and introspective.

“13 gets a lot of flak, and for what? 13, as a number, hasn’t done anything, it’s just the meanings we assign it that make it supposedly unlucky.”

“I never thought about it that way,” Cathy mused.

Anne just laughed.

Cathy wished she could remember that sound forever.

\---

They got closer and closer, and of course, the closer they got, the more Catherine had to hide, and the more she wished she didn’t have to hide, and the more she convinced herself that it would be totally okay and sane to just tell Anne the truth.

Because really, what a normal conversation to have.

She almost went through with it, too.

They were sitting on Anne’s couch, soft music playing through a portable speaker. Anne was reading and Cathy was scrolling through her phone. The soft drumming of rain nearly lulled her to sleep.

She blinked hard in an attempt to wake herself up, and her gaze landed on Anne.

Anne, sitting with her long legs curled up underneath her in a position that couldn’t have been comfortable, reading _An Abundance of Katherines_ by John Green, biting her thumbnail and humming along to the music.

“Anne?”

Anne looked up.

“Yeah?”

Cathy took a breath.

“Can I tell you something?”

Anne lowered her book.

“For sure, what’s up?”

“Anne, I, um…” Fuck, how the hell is she supposed to phrase this? “This is…I mean, I’m not…what I’m trying to say is—”

Before she could stammer out any more incomplete sentences, Anne’s eyes lit up like stars and she jumped out of her seat.

  
“Wait, I love this song!”

Cathy watched with dismay as Anne bounded over to the speaker and turned the volume up. It was a simple song, one that Cathy recognized as Divenire by Ludovico Eunaudi. Despite the anxiety pooling in her stomach, she couldn’t stop a smile from forming on her lips as Anne bounded about the room, dancing as if she was at a rave and not listening to classical music in her apartment.

Anne made her way around the room before circling back to where Cathy was sitting and holding out an extravagant hand.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” Anne’s voice was so bright, it was like Cathy could hear her grin through the words.

“Unfortunately I can’t dance,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Haha!” Anne crowed, “Finally, I have found something that Catherine Parr isn’t good at!” Cathy smacked her arm gently.

“Shut up, there are plenty of things I’m not good at,” she protested.

“Perhaps, but there are plenty more that you _are_ good at. It makes the rest of us look bad!” Anne laughed, “Please, Cathy, dance with me,” she once again extended an extravagant arm. Cathy rolled her eyes and reluctantly accepted.

Anne pulled her close and put her hand on Cathy’s waist, before guiding Cathy’s hand up to her shoulder. Cathy raised an eyebrow.

“I see you’ve appointed yourself as the man?” She inquired teasingly.

“Yes, well, unfortunately due to historical societal standards, the man also happens to be the leader when dancing, and I don’t trust you to not step on my toes if you were to lead,” Anne snarked.

“I’ll probably step on your toes anyway,” Cathy laughed, “Just a fair warning.” Anne’s eyes crinkled gently.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Cathy stared up at her, caught midbreath.

“Um, nothing,” she waved her hand dismissively, “I was just going to say I’m glad we met, and that you’re a good friend.”

Anne smiled with such genuine happiness that Cathy wanted to break down right then and there.

  
“I’m glad we met too.”

\---

And then, of course, it all went wrong, and this was why she can’t have nice things, and goddammit the universe must have it out for her or something because there was absolutely no way she could be this unlucky.

Anne’s hands clung desperately to the lapels of Cathy’s jacket, and she was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and all Cathy wanted to do was to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay because she can’t die, she isn’t going to die, she’ll come back.

But there was something about seeing her own blood all over Anne’s hands, something about the pain that lanced through her side, something about the pounding in her head and the numbness of her fingers and toes and her own shuddering breaths and most of all the exhaustion, the complete and utter exhaustion that seeped into her bones that kept her from saying the right words.

She felt like she being sucked down into a whirlpool. She could distantly hear Anne screaming her name, so loud that it must have been painful. She could feel hands grabbing her, touching her, though she’s not quite sure if they’re real or not.

And then it was like she was sinking into quicksand, like she was slowly falling down, and she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel.

And then she was awake, standing in the middle of a city street.

Pedestrians were hustling by. A few gave her some weird looks, but for the most part they ignored her.

Cathy was alone.

Tears of frustration and anguish welled up in her eyes, and she fell to the ground and wept ceaselessly.

\---

Cathy tried, she really did.

One must give credit where credit is due.

She relocated. She found a place to live. She got up at 8 o’clock every morning. She wrote her novel. She got a job. She did everything as she had always done to a perfect T. There was absolutely no reason for any unrest whatsoever.

But of course, something had already interrupted her rhythm, and it was all Anne, it was all about Anne.

She relocated _to avoid Anne_. She found a place to live _without Anne_. She got up at 8 o’clock every morning _unlike Anne._ She wrote her novel _while thinking about Anne._ She got a job _to forget Anne._ She did everything as she had always done to a perfect T, and still _she missed Anne._

And still, Cathy tried valiantly to forget. She had done so successfully many times before. Whenever she got too close to someone, all she had to do was imagine her life in 100 years. She would still be the exact same as she always was, and that person would be six feet under the earth, decomposing into dirt.

But there was something about Anne that made Cathy so inexplicably curious.

Cathy couldn’t help but feel tempted to break her self-imposed rules.

\---

Cathy forced herself to move on.

It was for the best, after all.

Or at least, that was what she repeated fanatically in her head while trying for the sixteeth night in a row to fall asleep.

(Not that she was counting.)

(She definitely was.)

She walked alone, wrote alone, drank her coffee alone. She knew there was no going back to Anne, lest she give the poor girl a heart attack.

Somehow, it was easier to imagine that maybe Anne didn’t care about her. Even though the thought stung, it eased some of her worry about how Anne might be doing.

She huffed, and rubbed her eyes roughly, rolling onto her side and pulling the bed sheets up to her chin.

Thoughts of Anne still swirled stubbornly through her head.

\---

Cathy knew this was a bad idea.

She knew it was a bad idea, just like how she knew befriending Anne was a bad idea.

Cathy was smart. This was a definite fact.

She used that as a flimsy excuse for her poor decision making.

\---

It took minimal planning, considering she didn’t have much to call her own. Her notebook, her laptop, a change of clothes, her wallet and keys, and the silver ring she had acquired in 1708.

She knew this was a bad idea.

_She knew this was a bad idea._

Maybe there was room in this life for a bad idea or two.

\---

She arrived in the city on a cold Tuesday night, with her nose bright red and her fingers numb. She stumbled out of the bus, shaking the pins and needles out of her feet. A shiver went through her entire body. She hitched her pack up higher on her back and rubbed her freezing hands together.

She would find Anne if it was the last thing she did.

And so she set out, with weak knees and weary shoulders, to find the bakery.

\---

It took her much longer than expected.

In addition to dancing, another thing Catherine Parr was not good at was reading directions. By the time she found the bakery in question, her whole body was wracked with debilitating shivers from the persistent breeze. She peered into the front window. There were a few customers sitting idly at tables, and a tall cashier with red hair that she didn’t recognize. There was no sign of Anne.

To be fair, it was nearly 6:00 pm. Anne usually got off around 5:00, so of course Cathy shouldn’t have expected her to still be there.

Cathy sighed and turned away, stumping over to a nearby bench.

It didn’t seem right to go to directly to Anne’s apartment at nearly 6:00 pm on a Tuesday night just to say “surprise! I’m not dead! Can I spend the night?”

No, that didn’t seem fair.

Besides, she wasn’t sure if she could even find her way to Anne’s apartment, having never bothered to learn her exact location, and, as mentioned previously, being absolutely atrocious with directions.

However, she also wasn’t thrilled with the idea of sleeping on the streets, even if it was only for a night.

She could find a hotel, but she didn’t have much money, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to sell any of her few possessions for a one night stay.

For a moment she debated checking the clearing in the woods, but the chances of Anne being there seemed slim, and the clearing really wouldn’t be any better than sleeping on the streets.

She huffed, and worried her lip between her teeth. A strong shiver nearly brought her to her knees.

Perhaps a library?

Open, quiet, and hopefully heated.

Cathy wrinkled her nose in judgement, weighing her options, before sighing once again and pulling out her phone to search up the nearest library with her frozen fingers.

\---

The second Cathy found the library, she tucked herself away into the historical research section. Not only was it usually one of the least densely populated and therefore quietest section, but it also contained some of her favorite subjects.

It was mildly amusing to read authors write about past historical events that she herself had lived through.

She picked up a pair of communal library headphones with a degree of reluctance (who knows where they had been, but they really were her only option), and began listening to an audiobook of _How Democracies Die_ by Daniel Ziblatt and Steven Levitsky.

She didn’t even register the library occupants slowly filing out, or the time steadily ticking by.

Someone tapped lightly on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am the library is about to close—”

Cathy took out her headphones and turned around.

And there stood Anne, her hands shaking, her eye wide, her mouth open slightly in shock.

“Anne?” Cathy had a million things to say and never enough time to say them, and Anne was still staring at her with eyes the size of dinner plates.

_I missed you,_ Cathy wanted to say.

_I’m sorry for leaving,_ Cathy wanted to say.

_I came back for you,_ Cathy wanted to say.

“Cathy?” Anne’s voice was weak.

Before Cathy could say anything further, Anne collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

\---

Catherine Parr, despite all the knowledge she had obtained through centuries of learning, had absolutely no idea how to revive an unconscious person.

Her immediate instinct was to shake Anne by the shoulders.

Her next instinct was to slap her.

She hastily derailed that thought and scrambled out of her chair to the floor next to Anne.

Cathy knew this was a risk. God, she knew, _she knew_ , this was a huge risk and a very bad idea. But the thought of leaving Anne there unconscious on the floor broke her heart. Not to mention, it really would be rather rude.

So Cathy gently rolled Anne on her back, pulling her head and shoulders over her lap to prop her up.

To her alarm, Anne eyes flew open at the movement. Anne lurched up with a start, her left hand flying out to grab Cathy’s wrist while her right flew up to clutch at her head.

“Whoa, whoa whoa whoa, slow down,” Cathy caught Anne by the shoulders, preventing her from sitting up all the way. Anne gazed at her glassily in awe.

“You’re not dead,” Anne murmured breathily.

“You hit your head,” Cathy stated matter-of-factly, unsure of what else to say. Anne just stared at her.

“God, please tell me this isn’t a dream,” she whispered, shivering slightly. Cathy shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what to tell you, to be honest,” she twisted her hands together anxiously. Anne sat up slowly, then stood up and eased herself into a nearby chair. She buried her face in her hands.

“Jesus, Cathy,” Anne muttered, and Cathy could hear the emotion in her voice, and anger, the hopelessness, the regret.

“Anne, I swear, I can explain,” Cathy started nervously, when stopped, because really no, she couldn’t explain, she didn’t know how to explain, she didn’t even know where to start, and this was a bad idea, a horrible, terrible, stupid, no good, awful idea, but she just couldn’t bear to tear herself away. Anne stared at her imploringly, as if sensing Cathy’s internal thought process.

“Please, Cathy, please,” Anne’s voice broke roughly, “I need to know, I need to know it’s true.” Cathy tilted her head in confusion and concern, reaching out to hold Anne’s hands in hers to keep them from shaking.

“I’m afraid don’t understand,” she whispered regretfully.

Anne’s sob echoed throughout the empty library.

“You died!”

Cathy opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. How on earth should she approach this?

And then she looked at Anne, weeping brokenly in a hard wooden chair in the middle of a massive library, and she felt Anne’s hands shaking relentlessly in hers despite her best efforts to steady them, and all of a sudden she found her voice.

“I died,” she agreed quietly.

Anne looked up at her, and instead of the horror, the confusion, the disgust that Cathy expected to see, she found wonder. Childlike wonder swimming in green eyes that were filled with tears and hope.

“And you came back?”

Cathy held her breath.

“Yes.”

Anne threw her arms around Cathy’s waist and pressed her face into Cathy’s shirt.

The only sound that could be heard was Anne’s messy sobs, broken intermittently by grateful laughter.

\---

It certainly was a strange conversation to have. Anne spoke her truth through choked, gratified tears, and Cathy listened carefully even as her head spun and her heart ached.

Eventually Anne pulled away, driven by the empty library that she should have locked up 30 minutes ago.

Cathy waited for her outside, her hands curled into tight, excited fists, jammed into the pockets of her jacket.

Her heart fluttered and she took a deep breath, the cold air burning her throat slightly.

It felt like the first full breath she had taken in centuries.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment!! ah please!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> alright u know when you've read something so many times that it doesn't make sense anymore? that's what's happened here. i'm sorry if this is incoherent.
> 
> please please please comment!!!!!


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